


Thicker Than Magic

by dekompensation



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edric and Emira are not blood-related, Edric Blight Needs a Hug, Emotional neglect, F/F, Family Bonding, Gen, Isolation, M/M, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29004018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dekompensation/pseuds/dekompensation
Summary: Family.Family is something Edric never had. Well, sure, he has a father, but the man is distant and cold, and Edric is more than thankful for that. Having no father at all would be even better.One day, his father forces upon him an arranged marriage with a prominent heiress of the Blight family, Emira. And, during the first conversation with his bride-to-be, Edric learns that, for the first time, he’s being offered to someone who is not attracted to guys; while Edric himself is very obviously not attracted to girls.So, being the genius that he is, Edric devises a plan that would allow him and Emira to pretend that they will get married in four years, all while exploring possibilities for their own personal life, free from the scrutiny of their parents, who will be fooled by the romantic pretense.Emira is troubled, broken, wary of guys in general — and Edric in particular — but, somehow, she still decides it might be worth it.
Relationships: Amity Blight/Luz Noceda, Edric Blight & Emira Blight, Edric Blight/Jerbo, Emira Blight/Viney
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	1. A Different Kind of Proposal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ocil91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocil91/gifts).



> Hi!
> 
> Please note that this story will contain depictions of emotional neglect and possible references to emotional abuse and deprivation (Edric's father is horrible, and Emira's mother is not much better).
> 
> However, the story will NOT contain any of the following: sexual abuse, physical abuse, adults inflicting physical pain to minors. So if these are your triggers, you can rest assured there will be NONE of them in this fic.
> 
> Just a disclaimer: Edric and Emira are not blood-related, but they will NOT be shipped in any way. The ships in this fic are Edric/Jerbo and Emira/Viney. And, of course, Lumity. 
> 
> Thank you for your consideration! If you're still interested, feel free to read and share your opinion in the comments!

The Blight Manor is not a long walk, but Edric wishes it were even shorter. Distance is not an issue: the boy is athletic enough to have no idea about exhaustion, running on sheer energy and metabolism.

No, Edric despises the walk because walking alongside his father is among the most awkward, unpleasant things he has to go through, and, honestly, the sixteen-year-old is happy he doesn’t have to do it often.

But today is a special occasion: Edric is due to get married. 

Now, perhaps for a sane person (like Edric) it wouldn’t make much sense. Marriage is about love, and mutual respect, and devotion — something that cannot be bought or forced upon. That’s how it should be. In a better, more understanding universe.

But Edric didn’t make the rules. All rich families ‘marry into’ instead of ‘getting married’, and he is the living proof of that. So, knocking stray pebbles with the toe of his shoe, Edric muses on every way he can disrupt this marriage.

It’s not that it’s the first time, he ponders as he and the old man (who is like forty but that’s beside the point) reach the black metal fencing that screams nothing but ominous. He’s been betrothed before, but each time his ingenuity has managed to let him out. 

Not this time, apparently. 

Alador, his father, called him into the study — which doesn’t really happen more than twice a year, Edric’s birthday included — and lay out in calm, plain terms that his son is to be given to the Blight family, and it is a settled affair. ‘Settled’, as in, no matter what Edric does, he is going to marry Emira, the heiress to the Blight name. 

Edric feels pain, and betrayal, and bitterness — but there is also rage welling inside him, intense hatred for this Emira, and a hope that maybe she can help him break the arrangement. After all, the previous girls would go along with his plans if he gave them a part of himself: some money, or a kiss, or…

Edric really does not like girls. And deep inside his chest there is a sinking feeling that hope is for the weak, and that this new bride will be just like the rest: longing for him and demanding.

Sometimes Edric wishes his father could feel anything. Sometimes it feels like he is talking to a scroll with prompted responses already written-in with magical ink. Sometimes Edric wishes his father would scream at him, call for obedience, maybe even hit him — then Edric could set his hatred free and hit back.

But no, it’s always ice age in the Asturias household, with every show of emotion by Edric not just discharged, but misunderstood. Alador does not know how to react to emotion, it seems — so he doesn’t. Many times Edric has screamed at him, cursed him, cried, thrown tantrums — but the response has always been the same: a blank stare and a silent spell that put a soundproof barrier around the older Asturias, who would keep on working, unperturbed by the needs and demands of his son.

The manor doesn’t seem well-kept. The little garden paths are no longer cobble-stone, but mostly dirt. The garden itself seems overpopulated with poison cherry trees. Except it’s poison cherry season, but none of the trees are blooming anymore. The grass is stomped-on and lacks maintenance. The irrigation ditches are dead and dry. And the door, the fear-inducing, two-witch-tall wooden door reeks of age and rot.

“I don’t want to marry anyone, Dad,” Edric says, knowing the outcome, his gut twisting in knots, tears in his eyes.

“I know,” Alador says simply, tapping his cane against the door. 

“Marriage should be based on love and choice,” Edric tries without much hope, his vision swimming with tears.

The weather is too nice for something like this. The sun is finally peeking out over Bonesborough, and the outskirts are almost pastel in how they are smoothed over by the gentle rays of sunlight. The greenery is still, with leaves barely responding to the faintest cues of the wind, which is gentle, barely blowing. _Why can’t the world have the decency to be dark and gloomy on such a day?_ Edric thinks.

The tall, thin man doesn’t look at him as he shrugs with just one shoulder, as if the gesture itself is exhausting. “I don’t know anything about love or choice.”

 _I wish I could teach you,_ Edric wants to say, but this is the sort of syndrome that he’s been developing around his father: close to being a hostage, except he can go free anytime. Go free and remain homeless, penniless, and probably end up in the Conformatorium by the age of seventeen. 

“This is evil, Dad, you’re not being a good parent, you’re just… evil,” Edric whispers, his fists clenched in silent rage. He wants to hit his father, he truly does, but there is the fear of retaliation. And an even biggest fear that Alador would merely cast an illusion spell on his face and proceed without noticing. 

It is the same shoulder that shrugs as the door flings wide open. His father is, indeed, a man of tradition and custom. “I don’t know anything about good or evil. Ah, good day, Odalia!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sooo, I hear Mom is gonna bring in another suitor for you, Emira?”

Amity is too smug for her own good. Emira launches a pillow at her little sister’s stupid face, but the sister in question is, unfortunately, a Grudgby pro, so she evades the throw with ease.

Instead, the little menace decides to settle on the edge of Emira’s bed, while the sixteen-year-old witch is on the worn-out sofa, trying to focus on her scroll. It’s very likely the sofa is one of the worst pieces of furniture they still have, what with the household falling into disarray, but it’s still firm, unlike the cheap bed with the softest mattress imaginable. _Ugh. That sinking feeling when you land on the damn thing._

“Sooo, what devious plan are you gonna devise to get rid of him?” the fourteen-year old wonders, already on her belly, her chin resting on her palms as she taps her legs against the bed. “However are you gonna save the Blight name?” Amity exclaims dramatically, mimicking their mother.

Amity’s antics are setting Emira on edge way too much. This is degrading on so many levels.

Level one, there is the weight of burden on her, a sixteen-year-old girl, to keep the family afloat, just because her mother is incapable of executing their estate. And, to make matters worse, the only apparent way to do that is marry her, Emira, off to some rich dude.

Jump to level two: Emira does _not_ like dudes, rich or poor, tall or short, handsome or ugly. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t find them appealing, she _cannot_ find them appealing, because she is strictly into girls. But, since she cannot legally marry a girl, her options are limited. Not that she’ll tell her mother or her sister about her preferences, of courses. That would only overcomplicate things.

Level three: those suitors don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. They come like conquerors, and, perhaps, they consider themselves such; but there is no way in hell Emira is going to allow any of them any dirty business.

She has gotten out of numerous arrangements like this one, so she will get out of this one as well. Because she is Emira Blight, and she is a fighter, and whatever adversity life throws at her, she will push through.

The antique clock hasn’t been working properly in ages. Rewinding it would prove far too expensive, so it just rests there in the corner of Emira’s bedroom like a tall, sad, picturesque reminder of older, happier, wealthier times. When her father was still alive. 

So, Emira checks the time on her scroll. If the suitor is on time, he’ll be here in about five to seven minutes. Still, she is not about to risk Amity being in a room with a possible predator.

Emira loves her sister more than the little douchenozzle can imagine, but if he so much as tries to show affection, she’ll lose all authority she has with Amity. Thus, she needs to keep her standing and yet usher the fourteen-year-old away before the suitor arrives.

“Well, Amity,” Emira drawls, purposefully avoiding any looks towards her sister, “seeing as you have turned fourteen, it won’t be long until Mom starts sending suitors for you too.”

Amity, however, does not seem perturbed, still on Emira’s bed, her school uniform blending with the colours of the cover. “Ha, the joke’s on you. You are the heiress, so Mom doesn’t really care about my personal life. Which allows me to focus on my studies.”

“Wait for it, Amity~” Emira’s voice shifts to a sing-song pitch — which is a sure way to annoy the little brat. “Some day there’s gonna be a guy — or a _girl_ …” Emira notes with pleasure just how thickly her little sister’s cheeks blush. “Who will just steal your heart, and all studies will be forgotten.”

Amity tosses her hair with unconcealed indignation. “Yes, well, that is _very_ unlikely to happen.” The young witch vacates the bed and walks towards the door with deliberate slowness, which, in her mind, likely adds gravitas to her words. (It really doesn’t, it’s just cute.)

As soon as Emira is left alone, the smile leaves her face. Her whole body shifts to battle mode: pulse elevated, muscles tense, eyes moving quickly. She cannot be allowed weakness right now. She has to be fully alert.

Being on the sofa gives her a tactical advantage, she has learned over the past two years. If the prospective suitor tries any dirty business, the kick would have more momentum if she pushes off the sofa than off the bed. The mattress on the bed is soft, way too soft.

Then, it leaves her a clear pathway to the table, where an old-fashioned envelope opener can serve as a weapon of inducing fear if not wounds. It is a pretty old knife, and it does nothing but rust, because no one of the Blights receives letters anymore.

There is a knock on the door.

That’s good. That means the suitor is polite, and, possibly, a weakling. That means Emira might not have to resort to intimidation.

“Come in!” she announces in a tone that can be mistaken for benevolent. In reality, it is merely grand.

A guy walks into the room, sheepishly closing the door behind him. Emira raises a brow — not just because she always does that to size up suitors, but also because he resembles her in many ways. Just as tall, similar facial features, same golden eyes — and one might even mistake him for a twin of Emira, if it weren’t for the brown hair (much like Amity’s natural colour). For once, Emira is thankful her natural hair colour is green. 

“Hi!” the newcomer announces with a fake smile that betrays underlying exhaustion. “My name is Edric Asturias and your mother insisted I introduce myself to you.”

_Okay, this one should be simple. Just destroy his ego, make fun of him, demolish his masculinity so he crawls away like the animal that they all are._

“Asturias?” Emira smirks. “Really, your surname is a flower. In plural.”

“I’m an Asturias, because I’m a delicate little flower.” Edric’s words seem to carry pride usually not associated with masculinity. _Huh. Weird._

Emira is almost thrown off-guard, her abdomen tensing up, as if preparing for a blow that never comes.

“And your surname is Blight, and I have no interest in taking in.”

_Wait, what?_

Emira takes a deep, scrutinising look at the guy, and it seems (though she may be wrong) that he, indeed, does not seem particularly interested in marriage. At least to her. Which is all that matters.

“Well,” Emira replies carefully, “I have no interest in giving you my name, but hey we live in an oppressive society so high-five.”

Edric blinks. “What’s a high-five?”

_Idiot, Emira, you are an idiot. Joking with the enemy like that._

“That… Don’t bother, it’s a human thing. That Amity told me about. It’s metaphorical.” Emira sighs. “Okay, so you are telling me that you don’t want to marry me. Why is that?”

A blush begins to surface on the edges of Edric’s cheeks, just below his eyes that begin to roam around the room. His long, slender fingers are tied in knots as he is tumbling around nervously.

 _Oh._ Now, Emira is about ninety percent certain her suitor is gay.

“B-because your breasts are not large enough!” Edric announces with a sharp breath. “And, as any straight male who’s worth his salt, I judge women by, uh, sheer breast size.”

_One hundred and seven percent gay._

The boy is very clearly uncomfortable, and Emira wants to smirk and— _Or he is playing you, you idiot._ Boys aren’t supposed to be funny. They aren’t friends, and they sure as hell cannot be her friends. So this idiot, shifting his weight from leg to leg, might not be an idiot, but instead a devious plotter, with his scheme aimed at weakening her, Emira’s, defences. _And that’s not gonna happen._

Still, Emira will test this guy, whether he be a buffoon or just a very good actor. 

The woman shifts in her pose, inviting Edric to come closer. The boy does not follow. Emira leans back, lifting her arms and stretching them behind her head, her dress clearly outlining her perfect forms (yes, Emira knows she’s gorgeous, thank you very much, no fake humility here).

Edric eyes her with obvious confusion. He doesn’t look away in embarrassment, but neither does he really focus on Emira. He is mostly following the woman’s eyes, his fingers no longer playing around.

Emira yawns and ‘accidentally’ licks her lips. _That trick always works._ Then she licks her lips again. Then, seeing as Edric does not seem any different, she slows down, placing her tongue all around her lips. 

“Uh, Emira, are you thirsty or—?”

Emira sits up on the sofa, glaring daggers at the newcomer. _Okay, he is very gay. Or, maybe, just an idiot. Either way, not a threat._ Yet, the woman does not let herself relax. There is still a tiny chance this might all be a ploy.

“Are you gay?” she asks right away, drilling Edric’s golden eyes for the truth. 

“W-wha— Noooooo,” the suitor waves his hand in the air — which looks like he’s hopelessly flailing his arm, unable to swim. “I’m straight! Boobs, grudgby, woo!”

_Titan, he is so gay it isn’t even funny. But why would he hide it? Okay, probably horrible parents. ...Emira, how dare you empathise with the enemy!_

And yet, there is a tiny notion in the back of her head that this guy — Edric — might not be an enemy. Even though he _is_ a guy, and, by default, capable of horrible, evil things.

Edric accidentally drops his scroll on the carpet while taking the device out of his pocket. _Horrible, evil things._ “I just, uh, I mean, guys are cool. And cute. And pretty. Don’t you just want to, like, cuddle them and kiss them and gaze at them while they’re reading their Plants textbook?”

Emira blinks while the guy lifts up his scroll. _Sounds like he’s talking about a particular guy. ...Not that it’s any of my business._ “No, I don’t. I really don’t like guys. I like girls.” 

Edric’s reaction is priceless: he lets out a breath and slumps a little, tension leaving his body. “Oh thank _Titan_. I was really worried you’d want to get in my pants.”

“ _You_ are the one who wants to get in my pants!” Emira screams at him accusingly, forfeiting all composure she has. _I feel like I’m losing this one._

“First, I don’t care about your woman parts.” Edric points at the woman. “And second, you aren’t even wearing pants.” 

Emira blushes and pulls her skirt over her knees. And yet, Edric’s gaze doesn’t linger for a second. Instead, it moves around the bedroom, taking in the authentic poisonwood furniture, the worn-out wallpapers, his eyes stopping for a second at the old clock in the corner.

“Okay, I can see you guys are pretty poor,” Edric says simply. “Why not just sell the moldy mansion and move into a smaller house?”

“Because the market doesn’t work like that,” Emira grumbles. The room does indeed smell slightly like mold despite her best efforts at cleaning. It seems the walls themselves are permeated through and through. 

_Wait a minute._ “How do _you_ know that we’re poor?”

The Blights’ fall into relative poverty is one of the most well-hidden secrets across the Boiling Isles. Perhaps even more hidden and guarded than Amity’s ‘secret’ romantic interest in girls. _Then again, to think about it, that’s one of the worst-hidden secrets ever, especially with this human girl enrolling at Hexside._

“Well, apart from all… this…” Edric gestures around with his hand, yet his tone bears no condescendence or disgust or any of the other ill-concealed traits of high standing. “Your mother made me read a file on the Blight family since we need to, you know, get married and stuff.”

“Yeah, marrying a gay guy isn’t the worst option, at least Mom will get off my back.” _Wait did I say that out loud? Stupid Emira and your stupid blabbering mouth, how many times do you need to fail to learn to bite your tongue?!_

Edric opens his mouth, then closes it, and then a stupid, ridiculous smile appears on his face. “Huh, actually, that isn’t the worst idea!”

“I knew it!” Emira shrieks, her muscles tensing up, fight-or-flee instincts kicking in. And she’s always been a ‘fight’ kind of girl. “I knew you would pretend to be gay to get into my pants — and this whole marriage thing!”

This is what she gets for being hopeful. Letting hope settle in your heart is the worst service you can offer yourself, Emira has learnt over the years. Because there is nothing good or bright about the future — life gives you things only to take them away later. Like life took her father, and dignity, and pride. Like their wealth, and their standing, and her ability to make choices for herself.

Happiness is bullshit, and everyone knows that. But even stability is a fallacy, a cruel, evil tale that she, Emira, knows better than to believe in.

“Hey, hey, take a breath, sister!” she hears Edric’s voice and realises that she’s hyperventilating, her fists clenched tight, sweat covering her skin.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Emira shrieks, shaking. “And I’m not your sister!” _I need to calm down. I need to calm down. I need to calm down,_ she keeps repeating to herself, steadying her breath. _Stupid, showing your weakness to the enemy like this!_

“I’m really sorry, Emira.” Edric’s voice is soft, and quiet, and apologetic. _And maybe just a bit too suspicious._ “I just thought of this really swell plan to fool our parents and live our lives and not worry about money or getting hitched to people we dislike.”

 _There it is, the answer. He just wants this marriage, and he’s been fooling me around and planting seeds of doubt in my heart so that I would lose my caution._ Well, Emira is going to tell him now that— 

Except Edric is already speaking.

“Okay, so my Dad and your Mom won’t stop until they marry us off to someone, right? Every time we reject our pairings, they work twice as hard to force a new courtship on us. But what if we pretend that we agree to this match? Our parents will be content, and no one will pay attention to us, and you can go date whatever girl you want while I can date Jer— jerks!”

Suddenly, Edric’s face flushes, his cheeks turning a fine beetroot shade, making Emira wonder if perhaps the guy has issues with blood pressure. But, seeing him hyperventilate is calming — and Emira realises that Edric is just flustered at the idea of dating someone _very_ particular. Edric is sputtering and choking on thin air, and Emira finds it… non-repulsive, surprisingly. Not threatening. Not a typical disgusting male behaviour she’s come to expect from her suitors.

“Jerks?” she asks in wonder.

“Y-yes! Jerks! Uh, big jerky macho jocks! Because that’s, uh, my type!” The guy throws his fist in the air victoriously.

 _Something_ tells Emira that it is _not_ Ed’s type. _Probably my common sense._

“So you do just want to get married to me, right?” Emira is confused, and angry — not just at Edric for throwing a stick into the finely-oiled wheels of her life’s cart, but also at herself for falling for this trickstery, whatever it is.

“No, Titan, Em, are you listening to yourself?” Edric groans and buries his face in his palms, mumbling something incoherent.

“Well, maybe you’re just bad at explaining!” _Oh Titan, it feels like I’m arguing with Amity. Good job, immediately after specifically stressing to Edric that I’m not a sister figure._

“Okay, step by step.” Edric starts gesturing, which, to be entirely honest, contributes absolutely nothing to his explanations.

“So, we go downstairs and solemnly announce that we agree with the match yadda yadda.”

Emira huffs, but Edric waves his finger in the air and proceeds:

“Yes, _but_ we say that we require an integration period — or something — to get to know each other better et cetera et cetera. Let’s say four years.”

Emira likes the idea of four years of peace and calm, but cannot shake the awful sensation of being tricked. _You can’t trust boys, Emira._

“Then we pretend like we’re engaged so we can live our lives. You can start dating whatever girl you like, and no one is gonna pay attention to you cause you’re ‘engaged’ to me. And I, likewise, ‘engaged’ to you, can try to woo Jerb— jersey-wearing jocks! My type!”

Edric’s laughter is too fake, and now Emira knows for certain that jersey-wearing jocks are as far from his type as possible. But the boy immediately jumps over — both metaphorically _and_ literally, jumping over to another spot on the carpet.

“And, meanwhile, I will start saving money — because if you haven’t noticed my Dad is super rich, and I’m his heir — and by the time we’re due to get married, we can tell our parents ‘eff you’ and go live with our respective partners and not worry about being poor and starving. Besides, in a couple of years we’ll be in a coven, and since I’m top of the Illusions class, I hope to start making good money.”

Edric’s boasting sets off something weird in Emira’s brain. And then it clicks. _Wait a minute…_ “Hey, _I_ am top of the Illusions class! I haven’t even seen you in the track!” 

“Well, perhaps,” Edric counters, puffing out his chest — which, funnily enough, makes him feel slightly feminine instead of masculine ( _He’s a boy, don’t let your guard down!_ ), “it’s because I go to school in the morning, like _most_ students.”

“Well, the fact that I go to evening school doesn’t stop me from being the best,” Emira counters, taking a step closer to the boy. “So I don’t need your money or whatever it is you’re proposing.”

“I’m _not_ —” Suddenly, exasperation is gone from Edric’s face, and it shows a sort of bitterness that Emira is all too familiar with. “You know what? Your loss. But guess what’s gonna happen? We break this thing off — thank _Titan_ — and my Dad is gonna keep putting me up with girls who want to get under my shirt. And you, I guess, you seem strong so you’ll probably keep kickin your suitors in the balls — but these suitors will keep coming because your family fortune is deteriorating.”

The guy turns away, but Emira can see the tears in his eyes. Very weird for someone who’s this bitter. _Maybe it’s because his real plan failed — the plan of getting in my pants._

“Titan, every time I try to do something nice, to have a bond with someone, to make a friend, they just throw shit like this in my face!” Now Edric is openly crying, and Emira isn’t sure how to reach — whether to react at all. 

“I thought, hey, the world is a shitty place, but here we are, faced with the same predicament, so we could join forces, hell, maybe become friends in the face of it all. But yeah, sure, paint me a villain, because that feels so good to be prejudiced against!”

Emira is just standing there, lost and numb, watching Edric bawling his eyes out. At times like this, she wishes she were truly soulless, but compassion is sinking around her heart, travelling through her veins, and she is growing soft, her resolve washed away at the sight in front of her.

“I have trust issues,” Emira confesses suddenly. _Stupid, opening up like this, stupid Emira, you dumb stupid witch._ “I, uh, I’ve had bad experiences before. I don’t trust people.”

Edric sniffs, drying the snot around his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “I… I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Look, I’m not an idiot, I know I seem and sound pathetic. But I never really had any friends.

“And I understand that you might think there’s a catch,” Edric carries on. “But there really isn’t one. I just thought we could bond over this thing and maybe become friends, that’s literally all I had in mind. If that’s an ulterior motive, then I’m guilty as charged.”

Edric opens up his arms wide, leaving his chest and abdomen open. For a second, Emira feels like he’s just taunting her, provoking her to drop her guard and— _And I really need to get better, don’t I. I can’t live my life without trusting anyone._

_Besides, the idea of dating a sexy girl without Mom being on my tail is more than appealing._

“You also said you would save money for me and Amity?” Emira says carefully, trying not to give any hints that she might be accepting this proposal, her arms now crossed defensively. “What’s the catch there?”

“There is no—” Edric sighs, realising that his words might be falling onto barren soil. “I know it must be very difficult for you to believe me, and I am not asking you to trust me right away. I will be saving up money over these four years, and each year I will be giving you half of what I’ve saved. So even if you at some point decide you want to never see me again, you and Amity will still have some money.”

“Why are you putting yourself down?” Emira asks instead of a million questions that are in her head right now. “Is it just because you pity us? I don’t understand the power play beneath whatever you’re proposing.”

Edric shrugs, visibly tired. “I… I don’t know what else to say. I guess everything must be a show of power to you. I, on the other hand, am not afraid of showing weakness. There is literally not a single good thing about my life, and if I died tomorrow, nothing would probably change. That thought should make me horrified, but it just makes me serene. Maybe helping you guys will give me a purpose.”

Emira should definitely just tell Edric to go away. She should go back to her usual scrolling, and her usual bickering with Amity, and her usual murderberry pancakes that always smell just a little bit too burnt.

Emira should return to the calm harbour of her pitiful existence and carry on like the stoic that she is. The less she participates, the less she will get hurt. That is the general rule, and there’s a reason why general rules exist: they always _work_.

Instead, she says, “Walk me through your plan again.”

And, as Edric keeps explaining the plan again, albeit with less enthusiasm, Emira suddenly realises that she will go through with it. She will agree to these terms, because, in all reality, it’s a damn good plan, and Edric is a damn good schemer. And if his scheme just so happens to hurt her — or, Titan forbid, her little sister — Emira knows many ways to make Edric suffer, and no money will buy him out. He is weak, and Emira is strong; or at least strong enough to beat him.

“So?” There is just a tiny smidge of hope in Edric’s voice, and Emira finds it weird just how hopeful the guy is. How open he is. How much he wears his heart on his sleeve. Even though the sleeve in question is kind of smudged with snot. 

“How does my genius-slash-ingenious plan sound to you?”

Edric’s hopeful smile is too much — how can anyone just hate it? He literally looks like a tiny three-headed Tartarus puppy. Except, well, one-headed.

“These words mean the same thing,” Emira remarks.

“ _Semantics_ , sister.”

“I’m not your sister.” Emira looks the guy up and down, still not fully sure about what she is going to do. “You’re really weird, you know that?”

“Sorry, Em, I promise I’m just weird. Not a creep.” 

“Are you gonna keep calling me ‘Em’?” 

“Well,” Edric steps aside, his hands first gesturing at himself, then at Emira, as if equating the two witches. “I thought since we’re two genius-slash-ingenious-slash-whatever co-conspirators or whatever, we could have matching names. Like, Em and Ed. And witches will fear us.”

“I seriously doubt anyone will fear ‘Em and Ed’.” Emira closes her eyes. _Unbelievable. I’m gonna regret this later, on so many levels._

“Okay, Ed.” The name feels weird on her tongue, but Emira decides to roll with it. _Since I’m all-in today, sure, why not._ “Let’s go with your plan. But if at any point you double-cross me, I will hurt you. Badly.”

“I won’t,” Edric says, and then amends, “I mean, I will never hurt you intentionally. I’ll do my best not to hurt you, but I don’t want to make promises because I know you have trust issues.”

 _How considerate._ Emira wants to feel sarcastic and sassy, but that… that _is_ pretty considerate, isn’t it. “All right, so, what now?”

“Now...” Edric grins. “I suggest we start working on our announcement.”

 _I am so going to regret this. What the hell have I gotten myself into?_ Emira wants to snap, to cancel the entire thing, to go back to her well-practised escapism.

Instead, she says, “Okay, let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments (if you have the time, of course). 
> 
> This story is dedicated to [Ocil91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocil91/pseuds/Ocil91) because this fic is inspired by their story ['Outsiders'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110131/chapters/66199603), and their portrayal of Edric and Emira has inspired my portrayals of Edric and Emira in this fic. (Even though the two stories are not related whatsover, and Ocil91's story is infinitely better in terms of character development and style and narration and pretty much everything.)


	2. Building Bridges

Edric is officially _the_ weirdest person Emira has ever talked to.

He has zero sense of shame, no pride whatsoever, and a sense of humour that makes her legitimately chuckle instead of snorting or breathing out of her nose rapidly. And he does all of that daily — because they do videochat daily — and their parents don’t care because they think the two teens are doing this out of mutual attraction.

The best thing, however, is that there is no mutual attraction. It feels refreshing to talk to a guy who isn’t interested in her, but still wants to talk, and laugh together, and tell her ridiculous things. Over the past few weeks, their relationship grows into what she has with Amity — only much more fun, because there’s so much she can’t tell her little sister. And it feels like she can tell Edric everything.

But she doesn’t. Because it’s weird, and the last time she had a friend, it hurt more than she could bear. Besides, Edric is a boy. So yes, Emira is reluctant to call it a friendship, and yes, Emira still does not trust this guy, and yes, maybe she just needs someone to talk to. 

It isn’t that important, though. Emira has her own life.

_______________

Emira is amazing. Edric is sure of that.

She is smart, she knows stuff about geography and history and science, and she laughs at his stupid jokes. And the best thing? She takes no interest in his body, not like all the other girls around Hexside. Emira couldn’t give a damn about his face or his arms or his abs — if he were to take off his shirt, she’d just scrunch her nose and tell him to put it back on.

This is refreshing and wonderful. Edric loves talking to Emira. He finally has someone to confide in. Someone he can trust. And Edric hopes he can earn her trust.

But he is horrified. Every person who got to know him left. No one could stand his character, no one wanted to devote their time to this attention-hoarding weirdo. No one would ever give Edric the care he needed. His standards were — and remain — way too high. He is too shallow, too loud, too verbose, too clingy, too talkative.

And, even though he needs care more than ever, he’s not gonna push. He’s gonna be strong, and he’s gonna be smart, and he’s gonna go out of his way to help Emira with whatever she needs. Putting all his needs aside.

Because that’s what friends do.

_______________

“Hanging out with you is weird.”

Usually Emira, the reserved, collected witch that she is, would never say something like that out loud. And yet, here she is, strolling through Bonesborough Market with Ed by her side, telling him exactly that.

The smells of rotting food are a stark contrast to the otherwise enticing atmosphere of the place, but it’s no wonder. Where there’s food, there’s rot. Where there’s people, there’s decay. _Truly I am an optimist._

“Am I making you feel weird?”

It’s _so_ like Edric. On the surface he’s an idiot. A gullible, guffawing, squeaky idiot. And yet, if one began to dig beneath the surface, they would find that Ed is selfless, caring, and a good listener. Which might, of course, all be just a ploy to get in her pants. Happened before, way too many times. 

Trusting a guy is hard, even if it’s someone like Ed. Then again, why does she have to trust Ed? He’s just a friendly face to talk to. Emira blinks, stopping right in the middle of the street. _Since when have I started thinking about him as ‘Ed’?_

Edric stops as well, his face serious. “I’m really sorry, Em, is it something I said? I don’t really have experience having friends.”

This sounds so genuine — and so wrong. And Emira can relate. The only thing she cannot relate to is why this guy is wearing his heart on his sleeve. Why is he so open? Is it just because she’s literally the only person he talks to? Or does he have a chronic inability to hold in his secrets? (It certainly seems so.) 

“No, it’s fine,” Emira lies. It feels wrong to lie to Ed for some reason. Like she’s taking something pure and spoiling it. _He isn’t pure. He’s a guy. You know what guys do._

The green-haired witch shuts her eyes tight, trying to forget the shadows of the past as the rhythmic din of footsteps washes away the white noise of her own mind.

_______________

It’s really weird though, this friendship. And it’s so, so much fun.

Just a couple of months ago Edric and Emira, standing right there in the dining hall, solemnly announced that they had reached a mutual decision to get married in four years, that is, forty-eight months or one thousand four hundred and sixty days (Edric resorted to a calculating spell), so their parents can rest assured that the marriage will produce a union of wealth and power beneficial for both families.

And now Edric and Emira are sitting at the large dining table meant for forty witches (‘witches’ because Odalia Blight does _not_ associate with demons or half-bloods blah blah blah), exchanging silent jokes at the expense of the stern matriarch seated at the head of the table.

Edric will sometimes slurp his spaghetti (what a strange name for a dish) in a manner that’ll make the meal smack against his chin, spilling sauce everywhere — which inevitably results in Odalia’s frowns and Emira’s giggles.

Emira is having fun, and it feels like a betrayal. Every time she laughs, she is betraying her solemnity. Every time she smiles, she is digging yet another nail in her father’s coffin, not mourning him properly. Every time Ed shows her a funny video that she enjoys, she feels like she is a traitor succumbing to enemy forces. 

Emira thinks that, maybe, she is just as messed up as Edric, only in an entirely different manner.

However, right now she thinks that something is going to be seriously wrong. And it’s not just her innate paranoia: Odalia taps her glass-tapping fork against the glass. _Seriously, will all this debt, we still have special cutlery we don’t even eat with._

“Not once in these nine weeks have I seen you show affection for your fiancée,” Odalia remarks, cutting into the chisel-weasel steak, her elbows above the table, at almost a comical level.

 _As always, straight to the point. And still she doesn’t refer to me as her daughter,_ Emira thinks, her blood running cold as the girl tries to pump herself up with fake bravado. Because now is the time when Edric has to play along, and yes, he is _supposed to_ play along, and Emira wants him to play along, but if Ed does… Well, the very tiny platform of trust that is surfacing underneath the two of them like thin November ice is going to crack forever.

_There’s just no way around it._

“Oh, but ma’am, that is not something that behoves me,” Edric says pompously, giving Emira a wink. 

_Or, perhaps, there is._

Emira snorts internally and applauds Ed (also internally) for not misusing his words, not mistaking ‘behove’ for ‘befall’ or something. Her mood is significantly improving, because Edric is literally the greater trickster on the Isles who can sell snow to a Knee-dweller. So Emira takes a piece of her boretato and chews on it, expecting a show. _Wish I had a bag of boretato chips._

“Oh?” Odalia’s eyebrow is slightly lifted — maybe half a millimetre, which, as Emira knows all too well, means her mother is shocked beyond belief.

“Quite!” Edric brings the champagne flute to his lips gracefully. “I am a lowly commoner, so until I officially bear the Blight name, it is not my right to touch a Blight, even if she is my fiancée.”

Emira almost snorts on her boretato, seeing Odalia’s face light up with understanding. _What a rare sight._

“Indeed,” the woman says finally, pressing the napkin against her lips. _You didn’t even have anything there, you’re just doing it for show._ “Truly you are right, a lowborn like you should not have the right to touch my daughter until the wedding night.”

Emira’s glee dies down at the idea of a wedding night, having to be forced to… _Edric is not like that. There will be no wedding night. Only my wedding night with Vi- vicarious girls who would take pity on me to have sex with me._

“Certainly, ma’am.” Edric nods and the expression of severe disgust passes for a moment on his face — but the boy swiftly collects himself.

The dinner passes on in silence, and the two ‘lovebirds’ are excused to go to Emira’s room to, as Edric put it, ‘enjoy a quiet, decent time of reciting romantic poetry’. Emira can barely contain her laughter.

It is no surprise that Amity is in Emira’s room because frankly the little brat just does whatever she pleases any time she pleases.

“Hey, you gonna bail or what?” Emira asks directly, pushing Amity’s leg off the bed. “I told you to never wear shoes to bed!”

Amity waves her arm in the air. “Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna go text Luz while you two make out or something.”

“Is Luz the human who goes to your school now?” Edric asks to shift the conversation, and Amity glares at him with the intensity of a million suns.

“Yes,” the fourteen-year-old admits after some initial hesitation. “She’s kind of annoying, and we had a bit of a rough patch, but we’re good now and she’s always so cheery and wonderful and gorgeous and it’s _infuriating_ and I don’t have a crush on her!”

Amity’s tone escalates by the end of the sentence, and Emira just snorts with laughter, while Edric’s ultra-wide grin is pushing his cheeks apart. 

“Sure thing, Mittens,” Edric says.

“My name is Amity,” Amity hisses and slams the door behind her. 

“Sorry, Em.” Suddenly, Edric falls serious again, and looks… apologetic? _Then again, it seems like his default state. Not that I care about why he’s like that. I have my own issues to deal with._ “Is it a bad thing that I call Amity ‘Mittens’?”

“Are you kidding me?” Emira did _not_ expect this to be the reason behind Ed’s sudden mood swing. “She wears mittens around the house, of course she’s Mittens.”

Edric exhales in relief. Emira just looks at the boy, and for the first time in her life does not feel threatened. The very idea of _not_ feeling threatened is already scary, but Emira pushes through the fear. Because if she wants to try and build some trust, well, she will have to try and build some trust. These four years of scheming have already begun, and it’s best if she and Ed have some semblance of trust. _Unless he screws me over in which case I’ll have to magically castrate him. With a magical chainsaw._

“Okay, so, uh…” Emira looks away because this is _not_ easy. “Remember how you told me to open up more?”

“Only if you feel comfortable,” Edric immediately supplies, and Emira rewards him with a nod.

“I never feel comfortable, but here goes.” The girl sighs, closing her eyes. _Can’t believe I’m doing this._ “I want to tell you about my crush.”

Edric covers his mouth with a palm because he actually _squeals_ like a kid and starts jumping up and down. Emira waits patiently until the moron stops his moronic exercises, and then lifts her eyebrow. 

“Can I proceed?”

“Yes, please!” Ed seems _way_ too gleeful for someone else’s crush.

“Okay.” Emira ponders on her next words. “So, there’s this girl at school.”

Edric nods enthusiastically, and Emira can see how hard it is for the boy to conceal excitement.

“Her name is Viney, she’s kind of an acquaintance of mine. We don’t really share any classes — actually, I don’t even know if she’s taking any classes… But we do hang out sometimes.”

“What’s she like?” Edric blurts out, starry-eyed, and Emira can’t help a smile.

“She’s fun. She’s strong, and _really_ badass. But she also has a softer side to her. Her griffin, Puddles—”

“Aww!” Edric interrupts, and Emira casts him a glare.

“So, as I was saying, Puddles really likes Viney. And so do I. So I should probably ask her out.”

Edric’s joy dies, a look of horror on his face instead. “How?”

“What do you mean, how?” Emira blinks.

“I mean, you aren’t going to just walk up to her and ask her to go on a date with you, right?” Edric clarifies, and there are already seeds of doubt in Emira’s mind.

“Well, that is precisely what I’m planning to do.” As always, when someone counters Emira, the girl gets extra-defensive and crosses her arms.

“I envy you,” Edric whispers sadly, shaking his head. “Your boldness is fascinating. Like, I don’t know what I’d do if I asked him and he rejected me.”

“Who?” Emira’s defence goes down a notch to let a grin onto her face. 

“What do you mean, who?” Edric blushes and steps back.

“You said ‘he’.” Emira advances exactly one step forward. “Who did you mean?”

“No one!” Edric blurts out, looking around like a kid caught with his hand in the crookie jar. “I mean, no one! It’s a theoretical super-cute brunette guy from the school who never appears anywhere but I sometimes see him in the cafeteria and I think ‘Titan, he’s so adorable, if only I could date him’.”

Emira blinks. “That’s… weirdly specific for a theoretical crush.”

“I don’t have a crush on Jer— jerks!”

“So he’s a jerk?” Emira smiles.

“No, he is the sweetest boy ever.” Edric closes his eyes with a smile. “He is soft-spoken and nice and I sit with him at the cafeteria, and I want to marry him and he’s _theoretical_.” Edric opens his eyes sharply.

Emira really wants to pursue the questioning further, but, after Ed’s nice behaviour, the boy probably deserves a chance to regain his breath. 

“Hey, uh, thanks for standing up to my Mom,” Emira says, discomfort still welling up in her gut, the kind of familiar feeling that is supposed to be destructive but actually calms you down instead because it’s one of the few things you’re accustomed to.

Like fear, and pain, and rage, and despair, discomfort is of the few things that are _real_.

“Always.” Edric nods without smiling. “You’re my friend.”

“You really… You really don't want to kiss me or date me,” Emira states. This is new. This is hard to believe. But it seems this is the truth. _No!_ Yes, it does seem this is the truth.

“Do you make out with Amity?” Edric asks suddenly.

“What?!” Emira’s forehead goes cold. Because she _just_ opened up to this bastard, and now it turns out he is a damn pervert like every single fucking boy out there! All this time, he was just getting to her to— 

“See? That’s what I would feel kissing you!” Edric exclaims, taking the disgust on Emira’s face the wrong way, as if she is thinking about herself and Amity. “Kissing your sister feels disgusting, so why would I want to kiss you?”

“I’m not your sister,” Emira mumbles, feeling in her chest a tiny speck of new emotion — honest guilt, not the kind of guilt that was imposed on her by the environment she grew in. 

Emira is feeling guilty because she misread an honest boy. _This is ridiculous, there is nothing honest about boys._

“I know.” Edric falls sad — which he never hides. “I wish you were.”

“You are weird.” Emira takes a step away from Edric. _Good, hiding your own guilt by shutting out your only friend is a perfect way to act._

“I’m sorry, Em,” Edric says behind Emira’s back.

_What if he’s just trying to gain my trust now to—_

“Thanks for having my back there.” Emira turns around and gives Edric a hug. “It… It feels good — if strange — to have a friend.”

Edric sniffs into the embrace like the emotional doofus that he is. “Always.”


End file.
